Lightning Never Strikes Twice: or does it?
by SoItGoes19
Summary: Olivia and the Fringe team investigate a series of murders in the Boston suburbs...but will they finish the case in time to go to the beach? More of a summer time season one plot. Eventually P/O!
1. Chapter 1

**A season one summer time plot line (because it can't be winter all the time in Boston, right? )**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Olivia snapped her cell phone shut and sighed loudly. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Again.

"What's wrong, Dunham?" asked Peter as he set down a cup of (probably stale) coffee on her desk. "Someone run over your puppy?"

She attempted to muster up the energy to continue their verbal _tete a tete. "_Nope," she said with a strained smile. "The puppy's fine, thanks for asking. That was Broyles - we have another case."

Just then Walter skidded across the lab floor, dragging an amused Astrid in tow. "Peter, you wouldn't believe what Afro and I found in the ball-pit at McDonalds!" He cupped a hand to his mouth and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial (but still quite audible) whisper. "Over six different species of ring-worm!"

Peter grimaced. "That's nice, Walter, very tasteful. Now go get your lab kit; we've got a case."

"Excellent, I hope there are bodies. I have some new forensic enzymes that I've been aching to try out," Walter murmured and puttered away to get his things. Peter shook his head and smiled.

Olivia bent down on the floor to file the last of her paper work back into her brief case when she felt Peter's touch on her shoulder, causing her to flush even more so than usual in the summer heat.

"Olivia, seriously – what's wrong? You've been in a funk all week," he said.

"It's nothing," she dismissed him. She bent down once again, her falling in front of her face like a curtain between them. Always the gentleman (or maybe just refusing to let her shut him out), he dropped to the floor as well to help her so that both of them faced each other on their hands and knees.

She bit her lip. "Just… Rach and I have always gone to the beach for one week in July, ever since we were kids." She smiled nostalgically. "We've even kept the same house: this gorgeous little cottage up in Cape Cod. Anyway, this is the week, and I've already delayed going twice – first I had the board meeting and then I had to finish my paper work, and now we have this case. I'm worried that I won't be able to make it up at all. I can't disappoint Ella like that."

"Livia," he said seriously. "Have a little faith. Ella understands how demanding your job is; she's a pretty cool kid."

He tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear and smiled. "Besides, there's no need to worry about not making it up there. We'll solve this one extra quick for you, I promise."

Olivia took a minute to survey the area before getting out of the car. The Boston suburb bloomed in all of its summer glory: the July sun beat down radiantly without so much as a cloud in the sky; children shrieked and giggled as they ran through the sprinklers on perfectly manicured lawns; glamorous housewives gathered on the porches in groups of two and three, sipping glasses of ice tea and gossiping to each other; fathers wiped sweat off their brow as they worked on the vegetable garden or washed the family car. The Stepford Wives-esque scene hardly seemed like the place for even a minor crime, much less a Pattern Incident.

"What have we got?" Olivia asked the startled looking cop as they arrived on the scene. The brown haired, wide eyed youth attempted to stutter through an explanation before Walter interrupted him with an "Olivia, come and look at this!" and dragged her through the throng of police officers to see the body.

"Fried to a crisp – like a potato chip!" Walter declared almost gleefully as he began the preparations for the autopsy.

And indeed he was. The dried, mangled corpse in front of her was hardly recognizable as a human being, much less identifiable as a person.

"Do we have a name yet?" Peter asked, seemingly reading her mind.

"The local coroner identified him as Bryce Johnson," she responded.

"Ok," said Peter crossing his arms, "So why does a simple electrocution get classified as a Pattern case? It could have just been a malfunctioned iPod, which while law-suit worthy, doesn't necessarily warrant the attention of the Fringe division."

"Well the body was found with no electronics on it of any kind, so it couldn't have been a malfunction. Plus this is the third body that authorities have found in this state in the last year," Olivia scanned her note pad. "all of them boys around the same age."

She raised an eyebrow. "Weird enough for you?"

Peter smirked. "It's getting there. Personally I'm waiting for the–"

"That's my boyfriend!" a voice cried out, interrupting him. From the crowd sprang a teenage girl, probably eighteen, with curly blond hair and a lean, model's figure. She sprinted over to the crime scene and threw herself upon the body, ignoring Walter's cries of "Don't touch that! Science at work!"

She looked at Olivia, her blue eyes filled with tears. "What happened to him?"

Olivia gently placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and guided her away from the horrifying sight. "We think he was electrocuted."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Electrocuted? By what?"

"We're not sure yet," Olivia admitted, "but I promise that as soon as we do you'll be the first to be informed, miss…"

"Miranda," she replied with a sob," My name's Miranda Pratt."

"Miranda, would you mind waiting with the rest of the crowd, just until we finish our investigation?" Olivia asked kindly.

The young woman sniffed and nodded. Olivia wandered back over to the Bishop men, only to find Walter on the verge of a temper-tantrum.

"Peter," Walter stammered, looking very close to tears himself. "Her prints…DNA...all over the body…contamination!"

"It's alright, Walter," Peter replied soothingly, attempting an awkward pat on the back. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think.

Olivia bit her lip to hide her smile and was relieved for the distraction when her phone rang.

"Olivia, it's Astrid," said the voice on the other line.

"Hi Astrid, what's going on?"

"Well, I cross referenced the names of the three electrocution victims that you gave me, and something came up on their Facebooks: all three of them had dated the same girl."

Olivia frowned. "What's her name?"

"Miranda Pratt."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to all of my wonderful reviewers! I would thank I you individually if I wasn't so technophobic and could figure out how, which hopefully I'll be able to soon :P To answer a common reviewer question, Miranda Pratt is not related to Susan Pratt and Nancy Lewis from the show (sorry to disapoint.) The name just popped into my head while I was writing the story. Now without further ado...**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

After leaving a much calmer Walter with a Dora the Explorer Popsicle bought from the neighborhood ice cream man and a promise of two more exhumed bodies to examine, Peter and Olivia pulled up to what could only be called a mansion. The enormous house stood three stories tall with probably close to twenty rooms and its pristine white walls adorned with wild ivy. Fruit trees lined the driveway in the front yard, in the center which stood a gaudy fountain in the shape of a centaur. The look was completed by an Olympic size swimming pool (visible even through the barred gate) in the back yard.

Peter whistled. "I don't know about you, but in my eyes, it's almost _too _minimalistic," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Personally I wish they had gone for it more."

Olivia couldn't help but laugh as she rang the door bell. "You can give your complaints to their decorator after we talk to Miranda."

The door was answered almost immediately by a woman in a black maid's uniform. Olivia flashed her badge. "FBI," she announced. "Can we have a talk with Mrs. Miranda Pratt?"

The frightened looking servant quickly ushered each of them into the velvet red armchairs in the drawing room (a pompadour paradise in its black marble floors and ornate velvet furniture) and told them to wait while she fetched the young master.

"What do you want?" a voice called.

Olivia looked up to see Miranda Pratt gracefully descend the staircase, appearing the picture of mourning in a simple black slip, high heels, and a vintage black veil draped over her fore-head.

"We just wanted to ask you a few questions, Ms. Pratt," Olivia replied. "It will only take a few minutes of your time."

Miranda roamed over to the ornate purple couch and threw herself upon it with a devil may care attitude. The differences between this girl and the one she had helped at the crime scene were shocking. Whereas the previous Miranda had been confused and helpless, this girl seemed confident and in control. She stalked her house like a predator. The hair on Olivia's arm stood up on end: this girl was dangerous. _Had it all been an act?_

"Do you know these boys?" asked Peter, passing Miranda pictures of the three previous victims.

"I know them," she evaded, "They were my friends."

"Just friends?" Olivia probed further.

"We dated, okay?" she huffed. "I didn't know high school romances were so important to the FBI."

Olivia's attention was diverted by the sudden outburst of brilliant white lightning outside, followed by a booming clap of thunder. Peter jumped. "Well that snuck up fast," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck subconsciously before trying to slip back into his "tough FBI guy" persona. "How long did you date each of them?"

Miranda quickly rattled off each of the victim's names as well as the length of each relationship, none of which had lasted more than five months. "Anything else I can help you with?" she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms with a pout.

Olivia glanced at the gathering storm clouds on the once clear horizon and decided to try another tactic. "Where are your parents, Miranda?" she asked.

"Well daddy's a stock-broker in New York; so he doesn't come home very often," Miranda replied, twirling a strand of hair around her finger blasély. "And mummy loves to travel. I think that she's in India right now."

"So you're alone a lot of the time?" she implored.

"I'm not alone; I have dozens of servants. Besides, I'm not a child!" she snapped, clutching her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I don't need them to look after me."

It seemed Olivia had struck a nerve. "That's all of your time we'll take for today Mrs. Pratt," Olivia excused herself, rising from the arm-chair and locking eyes with Peter to non-verbally tell him to do the same. "Thank you very much for your time."

"And I thought I had daddy issues," Peter whispered in Olivia's ear as the two of them were led out by the same servant who had ushered them in. Once out on the lawn the two of them began to speak freely.

"So what did you think?" she asked him.

"She seemed like a brat, no doubt about it, but no way she's capable of murder - that kid's had everything brought to her on a silver platter since she was born. Not to mention we have no idea how she, or anyone else, managed to electrocute those people to begin with." Peter looked Olivia in the eye. "You think she had something to do with it," he stated.

"Just a hunch," she shrugged. "It was so strange the way that she talked about her parents. She was so alone."

Suddenly the clouds above them burst, violently raining down droplets the size golf balls and soaking both of them within seconds. Olivia lifted her head to the sky and listened. It was strange: the rain sounded almost like tears. She shivered.

"Come on, Dunham, run!" Peter cried, shaking her out of her reverie. He grabbed her hand as they ran back to the car, laughing and shrieking along the way.

"Look, Peter! Aspirin showed me how to make a MyFace," Walter exclaimed happily from his seat in front of the computer back at the lab.

"Facebook," Astrid corrected gently. "There's Myspace and then there's Facebook – they're two separate things."

"You made him a Facebook?" Peter wailed, running a towel through his soaking wet hair. "Do you have any idea how many people I have to worry about him offending on a daily basis? Now I have to worry about the entire free world!"

"Sorry. He was curious about how I got information for the case," Astrid whispered apologetically. "Once I showed him how, he wouldn't stop pestering me until I made him one."

"Peter, stop being a worry-wart! I'm not going to offend anyone – in fact I'm probably the most politically correct person in this laboratory right now. You're the one who asked the young lady at the Starbucks how far along she was in her pregnancy. She wasn't pregnant," he explained, motioning to Astrid. "She was just fat."

Astrid raised her eyebrows at Peter. "She really did look pregnant. It was very misleading," he justified, his red face giving away his embarrassment.

"I simply want to reconnect," Walter continued, ignoring his son's explanation. A sudden _blip_ brought his attention back to the computer. "Ah, see, Asperger? My lab partners from college just commented on one of Peter's old baby pictures!" Walter clicked on the link, bringing up a page displaying a picture of a seventh month old Peter in a bubble bath which he had captioned "Rub a dub dub; Peter's in the tub!"

"Walter!" Peter stammered, unable to speak intelligibly in his anger (and Astrid's muffled laughter certainly wasn't helping). "I'm _naked_ in that picture!"

"So?"

"I don't want the entire world to see my naked baby pictures! Don't you think that that would bother me?"

"I don't care when people see me naked," Walter claimed, clicking furiously as he tried to beat his high score on Bejeweled.

Peter stood dumbfounded for a moment while he allowed that statement to sink in before he pressed home his advantage. "Walter, I want this thing deleted by the end of the day or you will never see another dessert as long as you live with me."

Game over flashed across the screen. "You're no fun," Walter grumbled as he turned off the computer and wandered over to the autopsy bench.

Peter's attention was sidetracked momentarily as Olivia burst of the lab's small bathroom, newly dressed in dry clothes. She looked slightly awkward in her casual duds (which she had been forced to don due to the lack of a dry suit), but Peter couldn't help but notice how _good _she looked in them. The jean shorts that she wore showed off her beautiful long legs, and her clingy t-shirt showed off curves he never would have known she possessed.

"Any break-throughs on the case?" she asked while she braided her hair into a long plait. Peter forced himself not to stare.

He cleared his throat hoarsely. "I think Walter was about to show us something."

**(A/N: This is where I get**_** way **_**out of my depth in the pseudo-science department.)**

The three of them wandered over to join Walter next to the body of Bryce Johnson.

"Find anything, Walter?" Olivia questioned.

"Indeed," he nodded. "All three of the bodies share one thing in common: enormous amounts of static electricity."

"But shouldn't that be common in electrocution victims?" she said.

"Yes. But traces of static electricity of this magnitude can only come from one source: lightning!"

Peter then took up the explanation. "Ice crystals in the clouds become increasingly polarized, causing the cloud top to accumulate a positive charge and the cloud bottom to accumulate a negative charge. This brings about a flow of electricity from positively charged regions to negatively charged regions; thus, lightning.

"So we're looking for a 'Storm'" Astrid quipped. Walter high-fived his approval for the comic book reference.

Olivia put up a hand. "Wait a minute… so you're saying that whoever killed these people can control the weather?"

"Precisely," Walter said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I just want to apologize in advance for the late update. I went through a kind of scary situation in real life, but hopefully everything is back on track now. For all of you who are still reading, I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. P.S. – today is my eighteenth birthday, and the best gift you guys could give me is reviews!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe. **

"But how is that even possible?" Olivia asked. "This girl's only eighteen – she's way too young to be a Cortexikid."

"Slow down," Peter commanded her. "You still think it's Miranda Pratt?"

Olivia nodded. "I can't explain it, but she's dangerous, Peter. We need to look into her further." She ignored the dubious look that Peter gave her and turned back to Walter. "So how would someone get powers like these, if not through Cortexiphan?"

"There are a number of ways. It could just be simple genetics; the girl could have gotten the powers through a mutation. Or her DNA could have been modified somehow." Walter paused. "Perhaps she was drenched in a toxic chemical during the walk back from her first day of school, giving her the power to–"

"Walter that's _The Secret World of Alex Mack_," Peter interrupted. "I caught him watching reruns on Nick at Night at 3:30 in the morning."

"The show is shockingly scientifically plausible," Walter maintained.

"Hey guys, I think I found something," Astrid called from the computer. She pointed to the screen showing bank-records for the Pratts dating back to the last twenty years. "Eighteen years ago Mr. and Mrs. Pratt received a check for 500,000 dollars from a Pegasus Genetics – right around the time that Miranda was born."

"Good work Astrid," Olivia praised. "So Mr. and Mrs. Pratt could have sold their daughter to be one of the company's test subjects."

"Then I guess I know where we're going," Peter said wearily.

An hour later Peter and Olivia pulled up at an abandoned warehouse about 20 miles outside of the suburb. Its grey concrete walls and lack of windows gave the building a prison feel, and the long shadows it casted in the sunset's dying light made it appear even more ominous.

"Are you sure this is it?" Olivia asked. The place certainly didn't look like a laboratory.

"According to the address it is," Peter said.

Olivia knocked on the rusty padlocked door. "Hello? Anyone here?" she called.

"Looks like no one's home," Peter said. He picked up a long piece of scrap metal and weighed it in his hands before lifting it up over his head and bringing it down upon the lock. The old lock broke in two and fell harmlessly to the ground with a clatter. Peter looked pointedly at Olivia as if to ask _was that legal? _She mimed looking the other way.

Peter slid open the heavy metal door, and the two of them walked inside to find the building in complete disarray. Scattered papers covered every surface of the floor; files were placed haphazardly into unmarked cardboard boxes; and lab equipment lay on metal tables, untouched and ready to be used.

"Someone left in a hurry," Peter noted as he picked up a piece of paper from the ground.

Olivia scanned the room. "It looks like we're just going to have to dig through it all. Why don't you take the left side of the room and I'll take the right?" she ventured. Peter nodded, and the two of them got to work.

As Olivia dug through the files she discovered a variety of information ranging from a history of the building's repairs to detailed sketches of hybrid animals, but found nothing on human genetic modification. She opened a box labeled "Project Cobra" and scanned the project overview in the front of the file.

**Project Cobra aims to test the effects of genetic modification on children using artificial insemination with the aim of creating a new breed of genetically enhanced humans.**

It was dated 1992.

"Peter," she called excitedly. "I think I found something!"

She gave him the cover page while she sifted through the rest the box, which included a file for each of the test subjects.

"Peterson…Putman…Pratt! She was a test subject!"

Olivia opened the file and tried to hide the slight tremor in her hand when she felt the pressure of Peter's arm on her shoulder. Inside, the file contained a set of shorthand notes for Miranda's yearly progress.

**1992: Insemination a success. Development of the child is normal. An early kareotype shows the gene to be translated, however only time will tell if it is expressed. **

The notes then skipped forward a few years to describe a series of test Miranda faced to see if the genetic modification was successful.

**1995: Subject 12 underwent extreme trauma in test 8 (the cooling room.) Subject wasted a few hours crying for her parents, but eventually the test caused manifestation. The subject conjured a strong set of winds, breaking down the door and allowing her to escape. No one has ever escaped from test 8 before. Development appears auspicious. **

** 1996: Subject 12 underwent test 14, which pitted her against subject 6, a telekinetic, in a combat environment. Subject 12 performed admirably and dropped the temperature of the room to 30 degrees below 0. Subject 6 went into hypothermic shock. **

** 1997: Subject 12 underwent test 36, which pitted her against several other test subjects. All other subjects were incapacitated. Subject 12 is quickly proving itself to be one of the strongest of the set – an utter success. **

** 1998: Subject 12 is unresponsive to tests. Claims it can no longer access its abilities. **

** 1999: Subject 12 is still unresponsive to tests. **

**2000: Subject 12 has been removed from the trials. **

Peter closed the file. "What happened to her abilities?"

"I guess we're going to have to ask Miranda," Olivia said grimly.

"Hello," Olivia greeted the servant (who was becoming like an old friend from all the time they were spending together.) "Can we speak with Miranda?"

The servant brought them outside to the pool area, where they found Miranda flirting and splashing about with a new boy around her age just hours after the death of her beloved. Olivia watched as Miranda sat on the pool's steps and ran her hands down the boy's chest.

"You have goose bumps, Declan," she cooed.

"Yeah? So do you," he replied in a husky voice. The two of them embraced and began to kiss. _This girl's a sociopath_, Olivia thought. The kiss grew deeper and deeper until she could take no more.

"Alright," she said, stepping out from the shadows, "Party's over." She pointed to Declan. "You, leave now."

"Trust me, it's for your own good," Peter echoed her.

The startled boy jumped out of the pool and rushed to put on his clothes, throwing startled glances back at Miranda to ask what was going on. The girl never looked at him – she kept her gaze locked on Olivia with eyes that could have burned through steel.

"A little early to be moving on, isn't it, Miranda? It couldn't have been eight hours ago that you were sobbing over the body of your dead boyfriend," Olivia said sharply. An image of John Scott popped into her head, which she forcefully shoved out. _No. It's not the same. With Peter and I – it's not the same. _

Miranda said nothing, but continued to glare at Olivia fiercely as she moved into the pool chair across from her.

"Miranda we know what you can do," Peter said softly. "We've seen the files at Pegasus Genetics."

"They turned me into a freak," Miranda said harshly, each word sounding like a shard of glass ripping through her throat. "I was their little science project – all those tests, year after year. And mommy and daddy were so proud, because I was their project too." She stopped and twirled her hair. "Until I stopped doing them."

"Why?" Peter asked her.

"Because I wouldn't let them control me anymore! My mother and father begged me, pleaded with me to listen to the doctors and do what they said, but I refused. I played dumb and said I couldn't do it anymore."

The girl drew her knees into her chest, suddenly appearing much more vulnerable. "And that's when they started leaving. Daddy said it was due to his job, and mother said she had to travel while she was still young, but I knew that it was because of me, because I had failed." She laughed bitterly. "Or so they thought."

"That's why you killed those boys," Olivia said quietly in a moment of understanding. "Because they would leave you, and you were afraid to feel alone."

"Yes," Miranda admitted. "A soft rain fell overhead. Olivia was beginning to understand that the weather of the town was tied to the girl's mood, with the rain most likely reflecting that the girl felt drained after her confession.

"Well, are you going to come quietly?" Peter asked, looking at the girl with compassion.

"I'm sorry, pardon?" Miranda intoned.

"Are you going to come with us," Peter clarified. "You just confessed to murdering three boys."

"I will not be locked up like a common criminal," she remarked haughtily. A bolt of lightning crackled across the sky. Winds picked up all around as Miranda soared higher and higher into the air, and the formerly light rain became a torrential downpour. "I'm going _anywhere_ with you."

Suddenly Olivia saw what was going to happen.

"Peter, watch out!" she cried. Olivia sprinted over to him at full speed and knocked them both to the ground. Miranda's lightning struck the exact spot where Peter had been standing.

"Thanks," he panted from his position beneath her, the two of them laying tangled in a heap on the now soaking ground. Olivia blushed as she felt his rock hard abs and wondered what the two of them must look like.

Miranda screeched furiously in the distance.

"No problem," she breathed back as she pulled Peter to his feet. "Now run!" The two of them took off and ran for cover in the woods surrounding the Pratt mansion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much to all of my reviewers! I've never written a multi-chapter fic before this one, but your kind words of encouragement made it so easy. This chapter just about wraps up the plot (it's a lot longer than my usual), but the next one features the gang at the beach!**

** Disclaimer: I own nothing…except my mother's delicious pasta sauce recipe, which has been handed down for generations. Beat that Prego! (Sorry, I have absolutely no idea where that came from.) **

Olivia could barely see by the time she reached the first line of trees. What had begun as a light rain had become a torrential downpour, forcing her to slick back her hair and squint in the darkness. She pulled Peter behind the nearest tree with her and felt her thigh for her glock. It wasn't there. The gun must have fallen off when she saved Peter.

"Peter, I don't have my gun," she hissed.

He frowned. "Should we go for back up?"

"I don't think we'd survive the trip back to the car," she admitted. "It's an open field most of the way. We'd be sitting ducks."

Peter nodded tersely in agreement. "Then we'll just have to beat her some other way."

Both of them stopped talking when they heard Miranda fly overhead.

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" she called.

"Oh god, this is like a bad horror movie," Peter muttered.

The air sizzled as Miranda shot a bolt dangerously close to where they were both standing.

"Split up!" Peter commanded her. Olivia nodded and squeezed his hand briefly before slinking away into the darkness.

…

"Call Walter Bishop!" Peter yelled into his phone while trying to simultaneously dodge Miranda's lightning bolts. He squatted down and took cover behind a shrub, chanting, "Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up…"

"Oh, Peter!" Walter exclaimed, finally picking up the phone after eight agonizing rings. "Astrodome and I made the most _delicious_ tapioca pudding in the lab today. It was always your favorite when –"

"Walter, focus!" Peter cut him off. Suddenly Miranda flew by overhead once again. Her heavy winds ripped the limbs from the nearby trees, forcing Peter to duck and roll to a safer location behind an outcropping of rocks.

"Are you still there, Peter?" he heard Walter ask.

"Yes, Walter, I'm still here," Peter growled back. "Olivia and I are running for our lives from a sociopathic teenager with superpowers, who is currently shooting lightning at us. We have no gun and no back up, and I was just hoping that you would have an idea."

"Shooting lightning, you say?" Walter paused, deep in thought, leaving an anxious Peter awaiting his answer on the other line. Without warning Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end, a sure sign of electricity in the air. He turned around slowly.

"Hello there," Miranda Pratt said cheerfully. She looked terrifying. Her once polished and put together wardrobe ensemble was now ripped to shreds. Curls stood out in all directions, looking dry and fried. Her blue eyes glinted dangerously. Her right arm glowed white with the lightning bolt she was about to hurl at him.

Peter dived to his left and felt the heat of the electricity just graze the side of his body.

"Any ideas, Walter?" he cried frenziedly into the phone as he sprinted away.

"Yes," Walter replied confidently. "Ground her out."

"Like a lightning rod. That's brilliant! But how?" Peter murmured to himself. He turned on his heels and threw himself behind a willow tree.

"Do you have a source of water nearby? A lake perhaps?" Walter asked.

"No, but I do have a pool…" Peter trailed off and began to sprint again. It would be dangerous, but doable. All he would need would be some wires and some sort of metal conductor, both of which he had already seen amongst the pool equipment. And of course, someone reckless enough to help him.

Suddenly Peter ran into something hard, knocking him to the ground and causing him to see stars. He looked at the remains of his phone, which lay cracked on the forest floor.

"That one's going on the company card," he said in a daze.

"Peter?" a voice said.

Peter shook his head to rid the last vestiges of the hit from his system. "Olivia?" he ventured.

"I guess we ran into each other," she said, crawling toward him.

Peter could hear the wind whipping through the trees, a sign of Miranda's impending approach. He placed his hands on Olivia's temples and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Olivia do you trust me?"

Even in the darkness Peter could see the flecks of gold reflected in her emerald green eyes. They narrowed in determination. "Of course," she said.

"Then we need to get back to the pool."

….

….

"Look for wires and something metal," Peter told her. Olivia scoured the dark pool deck for a few moments before the meaning of his words sunk in. "You're planning to ground her out, aren't you." Peter said nothing in return. He refused to meet her eyes.

"Peter, that's dangerous! And you didn't even see fit to tell me?"

Peter allowed himself one moment to run his hand through her hair. "It's not that I don't trust you Liv – I'd trust you with my life. But I knew that if I told you, you would want to be the one to do it."

Olivia smacked him lightly in the chest. God she wanted to_ punch_ him. "So what's the plan? We just wait for her to come, and then you play the hero?"

"I was hoping that you could lure her over towards the cabana. Then I'll jump from the roof and tangle her up in the wire with the metal on her end, with the other end dangling into the water. Then next time she would try to electrocute someone, she'll only shock herself."

"Peter, I'm in just as good shape as you, if not better. I'm an elite, highly trained FBI agent. Now is not the time to be chivalrous."

Peter sighed. "You promised you would take Ella to the beach. I'm not about to let you break that promise."

Green eyes met blue. Olivia silently acquiesced. "Would this weathervane work as a core?" she asked, holding up a copper weathervane in the shape of a turkey.

"Yeah," he said sadly. "That'll work."

Olivia's voice broke slightly as she fought back threatening tears. "I hope you know that this plan is so ridiculous that they wouldn't even attempt it on Scooby Doo."

Peter laughed.

"Something funny?" asked a haughty voice. That was all Peter had time to register before one of the pool lights broke off and hit him square in the face. Blood gushed from his nose. The ruthless winds whipped each drop back into his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. Shit. There was no way he'd be able to climb the cabana now.

"Olivia!" he called. He searched for her among the shattered remains of the pool deck, but she was nowhere to be found. The wires and weathervane were gone too. _Sneaky devil,_ he thought, _she was going to climb the entire time…but that just wouldn't be Olivia if she didn't. _

Now his job was to get Miranda as close to the cabana as possible and pray that Olivia made it out safely.

…

…

Olivia directed her entire focus on shimmying up the drain pipe of the cabana, one foot in front of the other. Of course she wasn't going to let Peter do it. She was the FBI agent; whereas Peter was only a civilian – it was her responsibility. But moreover, Peter was her friend, and she wasn't going to let anything happen to him. She pulled herself on top of the roof and crouched in wait.

A muffled cry escaped her lips as she watched as Miranda strike Peter with one of the pool lights. He immediately started bleeding profusely. She involuntarily started back down towards the ground to help her friend before she steeled herself. _Peter is alright, _she reminded herself. _He would want me to finish the mission. _

…

…

"Shit, that was close," Peter muttered to himself as he threw himself behind a pool chair to avoid yet another one of Miranda's blasts. The whole idea to steer Miranda towards the cabana? Yeah, that was proving to be a lot harder than it seemed, especially when attempting it nearly blinded from your own blood in your eyes. Peter sighed. There had to be a better way.

Peter did a number of quick calculations in his head. He estimated that there were about twenty five yards between him and the cabana. If he did a zig-pattern in the space between, he would be able to take cover about every five yards and slowly but surely move Miranda along with him. It was certainly worth a try.

He tested a quick sprint about five feet to his right and ducked under a pool table. Miranda howled in rage but did nothing - his run must have been too quick for her to charge up.

"Bring it on, Sparky!" he taunted her. Now only to do that…four more times.

…

…

Olivia took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. Peter was slowly but surely directing Miranda toward the cabana, and according to her calculations she only had about thirty seconds left. In times of crisis she always directed her thoughts toward the people in her life. As Olivia had once told Broyles, she was an emotional person, and thinking about the people she loved gave her strength.

She thought about Rachael and Ella. While their presence in her apartment might be trying at times, it was always nice to know that at the end of a long, hard day her family would be home waiting for her. It made her feel connected. Not so alone.

She thought about Walter and Astrid. The two of them were also like family to her, but in a different sort of way. They were some of the only people that she could wholly be herself with – no secrets or "it's classifieds" – because they occupied the same crazy world she did.

But mostly Olivia thought about Peter. Her partner. Confidant. Friend. From the very beginning Peter had seen through the whole tough cop persona, but only now was he beginning to understand what lied underneath: a chip on her shoulder, trust issues, and a fear that she just wasn't good enough to save everyone. And he didn't turn away. Peter was the one person who took her exactly as she was, and accepted her for it.

Olivia jumped. For an achingly short moment in mid-air she was truly weightless: no worries, no cares, no objectives. She just flew, her body as stiff and motionless as a board. But then the moment broke, and Olivia realized what she had to do. She kicked her arms and legs furiously, trying to increase the length of her trajectory and reach Miranda in time.

They collided in mid-air. Olivia latched her legs around tightly the teenager and began wrapping the wire around her as quickly and tightly as possible. Miranda tried to shake her off, but Olivia paid her no mind. She had a mission to complete. She had people counting on her.

Miranda gave Olivia a sharp elbow chop to the gut. "Get off me!" she cried. Olivia hissed in pain, but forced herself to finish the last knot.

Olivia smiled dangerously. "Okay," she obliged, before executing a perfect swan dive into the deep end of the pool. Now came the most dangerous stage of the plan. If Miranda shot a bolt of lightning while she was still in the pool, the current would be closed, and Olivia would be shocked as well.

She broke through the surface of the water and began swimming like her life depended on it. Stroke. Stroke. Ella. Rachael. Walter. Astrid. Peter. Olivia heaved herself over the side of the pool and gasped for air. Peter was at her side in a moment. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her in close to him in a silent gesture of protection.

Miranda lifted her arm to summon her final lighting bolt. However, instead of moving toward its intended target, the electricity traveled down the wire into the pool, causing her to be shocked with the force of her own generated lightning. The entire sky burned white as Miranda screamed in pain, writhing and twitching, before she dropped to the earth like a stone.

…

….

Olivia meandered over to the Paramedic's station, where Peter sat scowling and holding a cold compress to his nose. The authorities had long since arrived to take Miranda away, after first determining that the force of her own electric shock was enough to give her severe brain damage.

"Is it broken?" she asked him.

"Nah," he dismissed. "Just hurts like a bitch."

The two of them sat in an awkward silence for a moment. The time after a mission had always been difficult for Olivia when it came to partner relations. What do you say to someone who had just saved your life? What do they say in return?

"So shouldn't you be at home packing right now?"

She leaned up against the ambulance. "Packing?"

"Packing," he repeated slowly, sounding out every syllable like a dictionary. "It's what people normally do before they take a vacation. You do know what a vacation is, don't you Agent Dunham?"

"Oh Peter, I've got a ton of paperwork to on this case, Broyles probably expects a debrief, and –"

Peter stopped her. "Olivia. Give your self a break. You deserve one. If you so much as inch near your desk I'll be forced to use drastic action." He raised one eyebrow. "And you wouldn't fight a cripple, would you?"

Olivia laughed. "Now get home," Peter urged her. "Ella's waiting for you."

She turned to walk away, but stopped short. "Why don't you come with us?" she asked breathlessly. "You and Walter, and Astrid too, if she wants. We could all use a vacation."

"I don't know," Peter stalled. "Walter's not exactly a bundle of joy when it comes to car trips. And I did promise him that I'd help him out with one of his experiments with the ring-worm."

"Now who's the workaholic?" Olivia teased.

Peter shook his head, appalled with himself. "I never thought I'd ever hear those words in reference to myself. So when you put it like that…it's a date."


End file.
